


Never Again

by dayisfading



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayisfading/pseuds/dayisfading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This…is such a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

This is a _bad_ idea.

God, it's _such_ a bad idea.

Those are the words she means to utter, but it's something else entirely that slips from her lips. It's a breathy whisper of his name, something she's sure the former lawyer could argue sounds exactly like a plea for more. There's no denying that he would win that argument, because the man can be _very_ persuasive, _very_ convincing.

And he knows he's got her exactly where he wants her, drifting into the hazy, heated fog of seduction, of desire, of growing, pulsing need. Marty presses his lips to the inside of her elbow, feeling the quickened roar of her pulse just beneath her skin. One kiss becomes two, and two becomes a trail of fire as he kisses his way oh so slowly to her shoulder, skipping easily over the cotton barrier of her tank top strap on the way to her throat. He feels more than hears her quiet moan of delight and Marty can't help but grin against her heated skin. "Do you have any idea how long I've had this fantasy?" he asks, his voice little more than a throaty rumble.

Kensi whimpers quietly, arching her neck to grant him better access. She can't deny it's not a fantasy she's never entertained before either, after watching him interrogate suspects next to her in the other room, his muscles on full display as he leans over the table. Or when she's pacing here in the main room, frustrated, but he's leaning back in his chair, feet casually up on the table, looking so calm and collected and utterly in control. Or that one time she'd found him hiding out here in the boatshed, lying here on this very couch, one arm draped across his eyes and his snug white tee riding up just enough to grant her a peek at the patch of skin above his dark jeans. 

But she's certainly _never_ imagined taking it quite _this_ far. "Why?" she breathes, twining her fingers in the messy strands of his hair. "I mean, it smells like fish in here. So not sexy."

Marty growls softly, nuzzling his scruff along her jaw. "But _you_ smell sexy," he murmurs, and it's so cliche and so laden with typical Marty Deeks charm that Kensi has to giggle. Her giggle shifts to a gasp as he nips at a particular spot along her jawline, a spot that makes her squirm, a spot he chooses to exploit as often as he can. It drives her utterly insane and he knows it.

Still she struggles, despite his palms skating suggestively over her curves; despite her own fingers tracing his defined biceps, his toned abs. "This is _so_ wrong," she utters, and even to her own ears she hear just how futile the words sound.

So she _knows_ Marty can hear it. Knows he knows he's got her; knows he knows exactly what he's doing to her. "What's so wrong about it?" he murmurs against her skin. "You want me. I want you - _God_ , I want you…"

His low growl is enough. The fire in her belly, burning desperately for him, cares not about where they are right now. The ache she feels for him doesn't give a damn about the fact that they're tangled together on the couch here in the not-so-private boatshed, that at any moment they could be discovered.

It's so _dangerous_ how easily he does this to her. So, _so_ dangerous…but Kensi can't get enough of it. Can't get enough of him, and bit by bit, this is seeming like less and less of a bad idea.

She can't think of anything but him as his mouth finds hers in a hungry kiss; as he lays her back gently on the couch, his hard, muscled body covering hers and _damn_ she wants to hate him. Wants to hate the way he does this to her - the way he dissolves every last thread of her rational mind into a turbulent pool of molten desire. Her fingers clench tightly in the fabric of his gloriously tight v-neck as his kisses send her spiraling further into primal need, lust, desire. And she's not alone; she can practically feel the hum of energy that pulses through his body as he hovers above her, so close, but not nearly close enough. She can feel the desperation in his kisses and for one lucid moment she realizes she's not the only one losing control of sanity. For all of his devious teasing and banter, he's exactly where she is…and that is past the point of any return. They jumped headfirst and now it's all or nothing, all in.

Kensi shivers _hard_ as the thrill of that realization courses through her body.

She feels the evidence of his arousal as he presses his hips roughly against hers; hot, hard, and painfully _not_ where she wants it to be. Separated by too many layers of fabric; there are too many layers _entirely_ between them but both of them remain just aware enough to know it's not a risk they can take. Even as her partner's devilishly skilled fingers sneak beneath her top, seeking out the swell of a covered breast, it remains in the back of both of their minds the compromising position they've placed themselves in.

(As if it's somehow _less_ compromising if they're discovered only partially unclothed rather than entirely, but…well… Technicalities.)

Her hands wander freely, lingering at the exposed skin of his lower back, at the masculinity in his hips, before finally nudging themselves into the back pockets of his jeans. Even as she pulls him tightly against her, craving more delicious friction, she can feel the smirk that plays at Marty's lips. "I knew you liked my butt," he quips, his mouth never truly separating from hers.

"I hate you so much," Kensi groans, shifting her own hips against his.

Marty gives a low, throaty chuckle as he ducks his head to press his mouth to her throat again, a slow, sultry kiss against her pulse that sends a burst of sharp, heated electricity hurtling through her body. She gasps, arching further into him even as he whispers his cheeky retort. "You _love_ me…"

_God_ , she does.

But she can neither graciously accede nor stubbornly deny, not with words, anyway. Not while his lips and his hands on her heated skin drive her slowly mad; not while the weight of his body against hers presses her into the cushions of the couch, his hips grinding desperately into hers, the friction utterly delicious, but still not enough. Not _nearly_ enough.

In that moment, she's past the point of no return. It no longer matters that they're both technically still on the clock; it no longer matters that they're in the boatshed, that Callen and Sam could burst through the door at any moment, that Nell or Eric or even Hetty could pop onto the big screen at any second. It no longer matters that this remains a _terrible_ idea.

Nothing matters.

Nothing, aside from getting Marty Deeks inside of her. _Now._

Trembling fingers seek out his belt, somehow managing to unhook it and shove it away without losing her mind as Marty closes his lips around her earlobe. Between that and his devilish fingers drawing barely there circles around a nipple, she can't help but stumble slightly as she tugs the button free and fiercely pushes at his zipper. She shoves at his jeans just far enough to free her prize.

And then, it's his turn to shudder _hard_ against her as her hands close around him just enough pressure, just enough heat to steal his breath. The burst of feminine power that floods her as she feels his body quake above her is incredibly intense; the fact that she can do to him exactly what he manages to do to her drives her wild.

The next moments are lost in a burst of technicolor lust as Kensi's jeans find themselves crumpled on the floor, panties tangled somewhere in the denim (so much for the slight bit of decency they'd attempted to hold onto). There's no prelude, no teasing foreplay, nothing more than Kensi's breathy gasp of his name, and then he's in her in one swift thrust, sliding effortlessly home with a deep, throaty growl of her name.

He can't count the number of times he's made love to her, the number of times he's slowly and carefully built her up to that blissful peak over and over again, teasing and playing before finally allowing her to tumble. This…can't be like that, though. They're dancing with borrowed time here, no time for that slow, deep burn. No, this is fast and hard and utterly delicious and Kensi has to bite her lip to keep from crying out as his deep thrusts rock the very edges of her consciousness. It's good, so _incredibly_ good; it's a mix of the fiery, intimate passion that always consumes them when they come together as one, plus the utter, complete thrill of something so forbidden, so daring, so _wild_.

She arches toward him, rolling her hips against his with his every thrust and she thinks it should be embarrassing just how quickly the peak races toward her, but as his kisses grow messy and as she clutches to him, curling her hands in his hair, gripping his toned shoulders, digging her nails into his hips – any part of him that she can reach, she can't find it in herself to care.

And he's right there with her. "God, you feel so good," he breathes, and Kensi can't hold back the moan that tumbles from her lips. It's his name, his first name from her beautifully kissed lips and it seems to echo loudly off the wooden walls before bouncing back to his ears. Marty growls as he thrusts deep, feeling her entire body begin to quake beneath him, her nails biting into his skin and suddenly, the one thing he wants the most in that very moment is to send her flying over the edge with his name on her lips.

With a couple more seconds, he gets his wish.

And then with one last thrust, he's gone too with a cry of her name.

\--

_God_ , she hates him.

Hates that satisfied smirk that dances on his lips.

Hates that devilish glimmer in his crystal blue eyes.

Hates the fact that by the time Callen and Sam roll in with their newest suspect, Marty is looking as untouched and relaxed as ever while she's clearly still struggling to catch her breath. Barely a minute after she'd come back to her senses, stars still swimming in her vision, both their phones had vibrated. " _Five minutes out,"_ G had told Marty; " _more like ten with the way Grandpa G drives,"_ Sam had quipped to Kensi.

But it hardly felt like two minutes before the other two agents were coming through the door, and Kensi has _never_ been so glad to see a murder suspect before – if not for the struggle he was putting up, Kensi's certain her still-tousled hair and rumpled shirt, not to mention her flushed cheeks would have garnered far more than a questioning eyebrow lift from Callen. As it is, that single glance alone is more than enough to convey suspicion. "They know," she groans as Callen closes the door to the interrogation quarters. "They _so_ know."

Marty smirks. "It could be worse, Kens," he says, standing to grab a couple bottles of water from the fridge. Offering one to Kensi, he leans close to whisper in her ear; he can still feel the heat radiating off of her. "At least Hetty didn't pop up on the big screen…"

He knows he deserves the punch she throws at his shoulder.

"Never again," she hisses. "Never. Again."

All Marty can do is flash her his most charming grin.

_No promises,_ he thinks.

 


End file.
